


That's How You Know

by pushtoactveit



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, harry gets decked, mentioned - Freeform, slight ziam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-05 02:52:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6686236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pushtoactveit/pseuds/pushtoactveit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry always goes to the gym at night, waiting until everybody has left so he can concentrate fully. This night, however, he finds a boy who definitely breaks his concentration- and maybe something else while he's at it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That's How You Know

Yeah, he's confused. He always comes at 10pm, mainly to ensure that it is deserted, and so that he will definitely get a good night's sleep. A bit of work on the cross trainer, maybe lift a few weights, and then finish with an appropriate dose of the treadmill. Easy way to sleep and be fully rejuvenated for the day ahead. 

And, yes, he is a bit awkward, so it's best to do it alone. He tends to make really stupid jokes, and people learn that his charming smile didn't really suit his cheesy puns. Of course, there was this one time that a girl kept trying to talk to him when he was working out. She had blonde hair and large blue eyes, and she kept smiling and waving at him while he was lifting weights. Then, a well built man with big arms came up to him and told him to stop flirting with his girlfriend. He had narrowly avoided being punched in the face by nodding quickly and leaving the gym. That was the day he stopped going at 6pm and began going at 10pm, an hour before it closed. 

And it was always, always empty. He doesn't know why, because being alone means being focused, and being focused means more time to exercise. It's simple math, really, and even he, an overprivileged, curly haired, green eyed, white boy who majored in law, knows that. 

So it's certainly a shock to turn the corner, stretching his arms after lifting weights for 20 minutes, to find another man at the punching bags. He can't hear, due to the heavy music from his headphones, but from what he can see, the guy is beating them very hard. He stops in his tracks and looks at him.

He is petite, probably reaching just past his shoulders. Light brown hair hair messily piled on his head in whisps, a small waist highlighted by a black vest and grey jogging shorts. He has olive skin, and his green trainers are jumping slightly on the floor. Harry notices that his arms have a few small tattoos on, and then his eyes flicker down. After his eyes widen at the ass on the guy, his lips puckering into a surprised circle, he realises how creepy it must seem, him watching the stranger. 

With an annoyed frown he remembers why he is there and curses himself for his stupid routine. He needs to go on the treadmill to cool down after doing weights. And the treadmills are directly next to the goddamn punching bag, of course.

How awkward would that be, if he just walked next to the guy silently and just started running on the treadmill? Surely they would make some uncomfortable eye contact, probably nod their heads slightly in respect, before carrying on with their respective activities. He couldn't deal with that, it would just make it all the more awkward at 11pm when they were both kicked out by Nick, the personal trainer who always smiles at Harry. 

What if the stranger tried to make conversation? He was terrible at small talk! Niall always has to take over whenever somebody attempts to speak to Harry, the blond man incapable of conversing normally ("did you know that cats only sweat out of their paws?"). He would probably ask the guy about his opinion on animal cruelty in the UK instead of talking about normal things such as the weather or why they are here at such a late hour. 

But, working on impulse, he walks up to him. He's already too close to stop when he second guesses his instincts. He pulls his earphones out in readiness. Thing is, he could start a conversation with the stranger so that it wouldn't be awkward, or he could alternatively run from the gym and never return? Both were plausible situations. Yet, as he takes another step, he realises that the exit is on the other side of the gym, and there's no way he can spin around without him noticing. 

So he taps the guy on the shoulder. He sees him falter in shock, and then he sees the guy's hair spin around. He catches a glimpse of blue eyes before his eyes are forced close by a punch to the face. He staggers backwards, his hands flying to his nose. He swallows as he feels blood drip from his nose, the pain in his head affecting his eye sight.

He hears the man curse as Harry bends over and groans, and suddenly the man's hands are guiding his body to the chairs across the room. He sits down on one, not daring to open his eyes and look at the guy (his attacker. He leaves for a few moments, Harry supposes, because he returns with a few cloths, and passes them to him. 

His eyes open and he takes a few seconds to survey the man. His skin is glistening slightly, and there are a few pieces of hair falling into his eyes from his fringe. His body is very toned, and he places her hands on her hips. Harry closes his eyes and tips his head back, letting it rest against the wall behind him. Nipping his nose with the wet cloth, he hears the man speak.

"What the hell were you thinking?" 

Harry's eyes snap open and he looks at the (surprisingly high pitched) man in astonishment. 

"Excuse me?" 

His blue eyes are alight with anger, and Harry briefly thinks that the roles are very skewed in this situation. 

"You tapped me on the shoulder when I was clearly busy. Why would you interrupt me from that?" He waves her hands in the direction of the punching bags, and Harry's mouth gapes open. 

"You punched me in the face. I am almost certain that my nose is broken. What the hell were you thinking?" He tries to lift an eyebrow sassily, but it somehow hurts his nose, so he just settles for putting his head against the wall.

"Keep your head forward, idiot. Do you want to make it worse? I am not taking you to the hospital."

"But it feels much better to lay it back." He groans, his head feeling very heavy.

"I don't give a fuck, curly." The stranger places his hands on his head and pushes it forward so he is staring at the floor. "Keep it down, fuckboy." 

He moans slightly. "Why did you punch me?" Harry lifts his eyes up to him, looking at him through his lashes, and he can see him falter slightly. Then suddenly his eyes are angry again.

"You interrupted me. I came here to be alone, so I could vent my anger without being interrupted. Yet I get interrupted anyway, coming at the time I was told would make the gym deserted. Plus, you scared me. Who interrupts someone when they're obviously angry and punching things?!" The stranger rolls his eyes at him. "And now I'm stuck here with you, when I could be venting out my anger. God knows I'm even more pissed now, thanks to this unfortunate event." He motions his tattooed arm to Harry, her eyes glaring at him.

He shakes his head at the stranger, wincing when it hurts to move. "You punched me. I should be the pissed one, but I'm getting yelled at instead. It's not my fault that I was shocked and confused and curious." His voice is becoming slurred, and he wonders if this is a side effect of this very powerful man's punch. 

"Are you slurring? Do you have a headache?" His voice is steady but fast, and Harry just nods his head slightly. "Okay, we need to lay you down on the floor." 

He looks up at him through blurry eyes. "What?"

"You have a concussion." He takes a hold of his arms, moving him slightly. Harry stands up and tried to lay down without assistance, but he becomes dizzy at the sudden movement. The guy mutters under his breath as he practically lays Harry down on the floor. "Wow, to say you're pretty muscly, you really are quite weak." 

When he's officially on the floor, he tries to glare again. "Hey, you punched me, remember? This is a natural reaction, it doesn't mean I'm weak." 

"Yeah, okay, pretty boy." The guy sits down beside him and Harry tries to frown at all the new nicknames he is receiving, but it hurts to make any facial expression apparently, so he just settles for the slightly wincing, slightly emotionless look. 

There is silence for a moment. "Why were you pissed?" Harry looks up at him from the floor, seeing him fiddling with the laces on his trainers, his legs crossed beside Harry's chest. 

The guy rubs a hand over his stubble and sighs. "This guy I know. He's being a total dick to me, so I'm angry." 

"What has he done?" 

"He's fallen in love." 

He frowns slightly, which doesn't hurt as much as he expects. "And is that wrong?"

He looks scandalised at the question. "I'm his best friend. And now suddenly it's all 'Liam this, Liam that' and 'oh my god, Liam loves the colour red, it suits him so well' and all of this bullshit that I don't care about. And not only do I have to deal with hearing him talk about the guy constantly, now he is asking me to find out where he lives."

He raises an eyebrow with rising ease. "'Find out where he lives'?" 

"Liam and I used to be friends," he rolls his eyes, "I introduced them, but Zayn can't work up the courage to find out the guy's address himself." 

He opens his eyes wide and stares at the guy. He wants to sit up and talk to the (now that he has his full vision restored, very attractive) guy normally, but Harry is pretty sure he would just punch him again, so he stays put on the floor. "Malik?" 

"Yeah." His lips lift a bit. "You know him?" 

"He's in one of my classes. We went out on Friday night to a gig, he's a good lad. But he's very inconsistent. Perhaps you could talk to him about that." He rolls his eyes. 

"Wait, are you Harry?" He shakes his head and scrunches up his nose cutely, and Harry finds himself wondering how such an adorable person could be so scary. 

"Yes, that's me, why? Has Zayn spoken about me?" He smiles slightly thinking that this man knows who he is, which seriously should not make him feel happy inside, because oh my god what the hell is happening. 

"He asked me to come out with you a few weeks ago. He said something about a curly haired guy called Harry and an Irish lad?" When he nods his head, the man continues. "Well, apparently you're a real ladies man. He said that I could teach you a few lessons, knock you down a few pegs." The man's small lips smirk down at him. "And, hey, look at that, I suppose I did." 

Harry rolls his eyes at him but smiles anyway. "You should have come! Zayn got absolutely plastered, it was hilarious!"

"Yeah, I know, I had to help him through it that morning." His blue eyes become resolutely serious, and Harry panics.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry. Honestly, I didn't think he would end up that bad, we didn't even-"

"Nah, don't be silly." His blue eyes change in record timing, and Harry blinks. "He's helped me through a lot of hangovers, it's only right that I repay the favour." The guy raises a finger at him. "But don't make a habit of going out with Zayn and getting him unbelievably drunk, I can't deal with it every weekend. Or, mark my words, Harry-" he falters. "What is your second name?"

Harry stares with wide eyes, slightly amused. "Styles."

The man's eyes widen. "Ooh, posh." He smirks. "Mark my words, Harry Styles, I will hunt you down and make that nose unfixable."

Harry giggles unashamedly. "What's yours?"

The guy does a double take. "My what?" He frowns in confusion.

"Your name." Harry smiles at him, bringing the dimple out to try and convince him more (Gemma swears it works).

"Oh-" he narrows his eyes, "wait, you're not some trained assassin here to kill me or extract information, right?" His voice is teasing, and Harry shrugs.

"I don't think you need to know the answer to that."

The guy laughs. "Well, you're doing a shit job, mate." He shakes his head, but grins down at him. "And the name is Louis Tomlinson, by the way."

"Louis Tomlinson." He nods.

Louis smiles. "Harry Styles."

"You know, you should really go out with Zayn this weekend, we usually bump into each other in Walkabout, and we-"

Harry is interrupted by the cheery voice of Nick, the gym guy. "Harry, it's time to- oh, right." He clears his throat. "It's 5 to 11, time to go."

Harry stands, feeling a small head rush, but nothing too disorienting, signalling thanks to the man and then smiling down at Louis. "Ready?" He reaches down for his (significantly smaller) hand and Louis takes it gracefully. 

His head is still aching, but he can push through it. After all, he will definitely get a good night's sleep tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I've had this saved for ages, and just decided to post it now! If you have time, please leave a comment! Thank you!!!


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